


To Be Happy

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America - Freeform, Captain America Civil War - Freeform, Iron Man - Freeform, M/M, Marvel - Freeform, Sad Ending, Stony - Freeform, Superheroes, Superhusbands (Marvel), alternative ending, steve rogers - Freeform, tony stark - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 15:19:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8253739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It's the final battle of the Superhero Civil War and Tony Stark runs through his happiest memories before his time can run out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> First AO3 fanfic, and first Stony fanfic! THIS APPLIES TO ONLY THE MCU. Sorry if this is crap :)

Tony Stark had never really considered what death might feel like. Sure, he'd spent a long time fearing death, and sometimes praying for it. Hell, he'd had a lot of near death experiences, but when you're kicking robot ass with a stunningly hot literal American idol, an actual Norse God, a man with incredible anger issues (quote, unquote), and a couple of SHIELD’s best assassins, saving the world came before fear of his end.

Tony's time on Earth had been shorter than he had expected, now he was embracing death, but he had been lucky, for it had been filled with so much joy. Staring up into the deep sky blue eyes that had once held so much joy, he ran through all the happy memories he could remember. He refused to show any weak emotion, physically forcing his expression to be one of anger rather than the awful mix of fear and grief that threatened to show on his face.

The genius remembered a time when he must have been young, as he remembered Howard Stark’s, his father, much different appearances. His hair was darker, and his face still had what would become only a ghost of a striking handsome young man. His mother, Maria, was there, beaming at him, unaffected by age and more beautiful than ever. He could remember another person too, his god-mother, Peggy Carter. She must of taken time off work; she was still in her uniform with the proud bronze and silver medals on her chest. Irony twisted in his chest when he remembered happily questioning Aunt Peggy later that evening on her continued searches for Steve Rogers. 

They were all gathered round him, singing him ‘Happy Birthday’, their full attention on him. Maria had placed a cake in front of him, a cake, that, as he had requested, was made by his mother herself, not the maid. His intelligent brown eyes had been bright and excited, and he blew out all of his candles successfully, his eyelashes fluttering shut before he did so. ‘I wish that one day, I'll get to meet Captain America.’ That was his wish. He must of been turning six or seven then, and with a twist of regret, Tony realised it was the only memory from his childhood he could still remember in detail. Sometimes he felt that he could remember Howard’s proud smile that grew increasingly rare as as time went on. Of course, those might of just been some of his sad fantasies.

Rhodey. The name flickered into Stark’s mind, and he immediately knew the next memory that truly made him feel joy. Meeting James Rhodes had been best days of his life, and he tried hard not to let the fact the Rhodey was lying, unable to walk, perhaps near death, all because of him. 

Rhodey had been the very first person in his life that saw him for who he was. Tony had been in his late teens; unprepared for the death of his parents that would soon follow. Rhodey had seemed intimidating, the day he had met him, taller and stronger and came off with as a man with a permanent air of experience, no matter whatever they were doing.

“Tony.” The young man had introduced himself as. He didn't mention the fact that he was a Stark until Rhodey prompted him to. This took place in a time when Tony was ashamed to be part of Howard’s family; and missed every opportunity he could to be recognised as his son. To his delighted surprise, Rhodey hardly took notice of Tony's bloodline, instead, replying, with a slight grin on his face, “Tony Stark. Nice to meet you.” 

Tony did come clean, much later, blurting out with an obvious distaste that he was the son of Howard Stark. He met Rhodey’s eyes, his heart sinking as he immediately assumed his new friend’s eyes to change to a distant, flat expression that he had seen so often. He was greeted with a slight snicker and a light push. “Who did you think I thought you were?” Rhodey had asked. It wasn't the words that had stuck in Tony's mind all this time. It was the concept. Rhodey view him not as the son of billionaire famous Howard Stark, but as Tony, without having to lie.

The next memory he could remember that gave him pure happiness was a while after his meeting of Rhodey. In fact, there was a depressingly long gap between the two, though this thought made him feel a little guilty. He had had a load of ‘happy’ memories with Rhodey. Messing around, taking the piss out of each other. But Tony privately wouldn’t call them ‘happy’. More like a way to forget about his problems without using alcohol.

He’d never forget the way the little boy had looked at him that day, his innocent eyes filled with what could only been filled with admiration. For once in his life, Tony Stark didn’t feel like a piece of shit that gave weapons to terrorists. The anxiety that constantly attacked him faded a little. He felt like maybe what he was doing, being Iron Man, was worth something. Maybe he was improving the world.

He didn’t make a sound as he took another hit by the man he’d once respected. Looked up too. Tony didn’t feel ashamed, as he stared up at the other man, his eyes, for the first time pleading. It wasn’t because he couldn’t take another hit - the pain that was on the outside was nothing compared to what he felt on the outside.

Betrayal. Depression. Anger. Fear.

He never thought the man that he had laughed with, saved the Earth with, and at his very lowest intoxicated moment, cried to, was even capable of hurting him that way he had. His throat tightened and his stomach twisted as he raised his heavily armoured hands and charged up the repulsors he had built with his own hands. Watching the almost defeated blonde fall back a few feet away, Tony fought not to collapse. His vision was blurry, and edged with a growing blackness. His hands were shaking. His brown eyes darted around desperately as he watching the only other conscious man in the room stand up wearily and grip his shield with bloody hands. Staring up at his face led Tony to one last memory. 

The genius had been sitting at his bar with his head resting between his two hands. His head was burning from the night before, which he could hardly remember. “Jarvis… News.” He’d commanded in a tired voice. The room that had been previously silent was filled suddenly with a breathless news reporter’s voice. 

“You heard it right, Steve Rogers, or by his better known alias ‘Captain America, presumed death over half a century ago, has now been confirmed to be alive, and in the same condition as he was when he disappeared. Claudia here with the details.” Tony had stopped listening. A slight smirk had made it’s way to his face, as he let out a light laugh.  
“Howard always knew you’d come back.”

He would of loved to stay in that memory for longer, but as the taller, stronger man approached him, he broke out of his mind, and his senses came back to him. The figure in front of him raised his weapon, the once shiny red, white and blue shield, a symbol of freedom, and bought it crashing down into his chest. He felt it penetrate his suit, and messily crush into rib area. His vision went blurry again, this time with tears of pain that he couldn’t wipe away. There was a loud ringing in his ears, and he found it almost impossible to speak, but he mustered up the last of his strength to pronounce one syllable. 

“Steve…” It was quiet, but he knew the hero at his lowest moment heard. He could only watch, growing more pale, and feeling uncomfortable as something warm and thick oozed out of his chest, as the man dropped his weapon and knelt by his side. He was talking, quickly, but Tony couldn’t hear him. All he could do was look into his eyes, the eyes of his murderer, the eyes that were filled with sorrowful tears, the same eyes in Tony’s opinion, were perfect. They still took his breath away. 

He wished he could make a wisecrack. He wished he could hear what Steve was trying to tell him. He wished he could go back and take back all the insults he had ever spat at him. He didn’t stop to wonder if it was the end. He knew his time was running out. He focused everything he still had in him to make himself heard, even if it physically hurt him. “I… love… you…” He never got to hear Steve’s reply. All too fast the world faded to black.

Steve Rogers had a long life, but not a day went by when he didn’t regret the day where he watched the life die front Tony Stark’s eyes.


End file.
